A Unsettling Peace
by JaneAire
Summary: Here we go. A continuation of my other story Disturbing the Peace. Chapter 12!
1. Chapter 1

Is he down yet?"

Just about... shhh. Now you'll wake him. Again." Marguerite whispered harshly to Roxton.

They were camping out after a day into their long haul of a journey. They had just bedded down, and after several minutes of calming the little tyke was finally hushing up. They were in a small camp, just a tiny fire with enough fire wood to destroy a rainforest. Roxton's protective streak was in full glory. Mother and cub to be protected at all cost.

"Marguerite, we've got to talk."

About what pray tell?"

"Don't you find this a tad... convenient?"

"Camping out in the middle of godforsaken nowhere, away from TWO of our improvised homes, with a toddler in tow? Uh, no John."

I mean this.. me meeting you in the middle of a field.. with no map.. running from savages.. but not sold into slavery.. you being free and Willie safe and healthy? You said yourself that old neighbour lady practically nursed you two back to health."

Cleante. And we've been lucky."

When has either of us _ever_ had luck on our side?" Roxton was met by a weary face, with eyebrow raised and coffee mug tilted.

"Tomorrow?"

Hmm"

They decided to re-enter the issue into conversation the following morning, with Marguerite still a tad under the weather, and the hunter protecting two, if not three charges, energies were flagging.

The explorers slept all three under a blanket. Marguerite naturally was closest to the fire, with Willie in between her and Roxton. By morning their positions would change, Willie having snuggled closer to Roxton by lying directly on him, and Roxton supporting Marguerite's head as a pillow. Roxton's other arm would secure Willie to him with a vice grip, ensuring his safety without actually hurting him.

Roxton felt like no time had passed at all, he had tried to remember his time away from Marguerite but all he stirred up was blurry images. This was unusual and felt quiet strange to the rugged hunter. He had resolved to question Marguerite about her experience away from him in the following days. Roxton could feel it already; questioning Marguerite about the past was never easy. Even if the past was a few days ago.

Roxton had spent the entire day alternating between quick paced walks towards the ocean with Willie secured on his shoulders, to playing until naptime, to making up for lost time with Marguerite. He felt like he missed the world when he was without them. His son. His only son had spent years without him. However, Marguerite had done a hell of a job without him. It was like she had this ingrained knowledge about this little man. Instantly she knew everything: when he needed a nap, why he was fussy, and where the latest injury was. Roxton was baffled at her skills. He was damn curious.

During the last few nights after Marguerite and Willie had nodded off, Roxton had pretended the he too was sleeping. In actuality he had been watching them sleep. It was if they had this secret dialogue between the two, and he was sure neither was aware of it. It wasn't baby talk, or even mangled toddler-speak, but it was a distinct alter-language. He had asked Marguerite about it and she was adamantly clear that Willie hadn't developed her language skills. Positively clear. Willie could barely speak a word of English, yet when night came they had all sorts of interesting, if not completely un-understandable conversations. Roxton was again damn curious.

Roxton had also noticed that Marguerite had their combined positions, she slowly inched Willie off of his stomach, to between the two explorers. She would then link arms with her hunter, and created a sort of bridge between them. Marguerite's protective side was also in full swing. She wasn't overly worried about them, however making sure a toddler was safe in a long journey with guns and dinosaurs involved would tend to be worrisome. When they had finally reunited, Marguerite had already packed which was a funny thing to come home too. Willie's clothes were made well in advance, with extras made larger for later, and even a carrier made from parchment and thick vines. Marguerite had given him a look that begged no questions. He would reserve that right for later. And yet again Roxton was damn, if not ridiculously, curious.


	2. Chapter 2

Roxton woke up to a cold frosty morning and a shiver of all consuming fear snaked through his entire being. He woke up alone. He had gone to sleep completely encompassed in his family. His conscious had sweetly drifted away while Willie and Marguerite continued their midnight conversations in their own little world. In her sleep, Marguerite absently stroked the back of his head, and silently mussed up his hair. It felt like heaven. At the same time he could feel Willie's every heartbeat, and hear ever breath he took. He could always feel Marguerite's pulse; it worked in tandem with his own. He just instantly knew when she was in trouble, her pulse and his equally would quicken. They didn't have to be in contact to be in synch, it was this connection they couldn't fake or sever. He could feel it now, and it was quiet almost serene; the complete opposite of his.

He quickly darted from his place where he'd been sleeping beside the dying embers their small fire, and frantically screamed out for Marguerite. The hunter in him set his mind to task, and he found and followed a singular set of footprints. They were deeper than usual but Marguerite's to be sure, this was good; perhaps she was carrying Willie. They were together.

He followed the footprints until he rounded a small series of bushes; he then heard a loud splash and a minute yelp. He quickly sprang from the bushes and found himself looking at quite the scene.

There was Marguerite drenched to the bone sitting in the stream with Willie content in her lap.

"Someone couldn't wait for their bath." Marguerite stated dryly as she saw the hunter approach. "Then someone" She said while pointing to her sleeping child, "got sleepy and not so clean."

"Uh huh."

"Something wrong, John?"

"It's not entirely safe out here Marguerite."

Marguerite shot Roxton a warning look, a sure sign that trouble was up ahead.

"I can take care of myself, John."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that. But with Willie, he's a wild card. We can't tell what he's thinking or if he's thinking."

"I can manage." It came out quiet and steamed with anger.

"I don't doubt that, Marguerite. But he's a constant distraction."

"My son is not a distraction." Marguerite said quiet and low, as she sat staring at her small bundle in her lap. Her hair was long and wet, and it covered them like a towel. Her eyes held a fire that Roxton had thought had long diminished. The fire of independence. The burning need of alpha status.

"Our son." Roxton corrected in a stern steady voice. "Our son requires attention, which we alone can't give to him. Not safely. Look Marguerite," Roxton said as he combed his hand through his hair, "I can't go through that again."

Marguerite inwardly winced at the vulnerable look that haunted the impenetrable hunter. It ghosted through him yet she knew the thought had never left his conscious. He felt guilt.

"It wasn't your fault, John. We got separated, it happens."

But it shouldn't have happened. Not like that, I left you all alone"

"And we're fine. We're both fine, John." Her eye contact was dead on, and Roxton could see sheer determination in her eyes. The determination was at once smothering if not distinguishing her independent streak.

And with a simple nod from both parties the intense discussion was over, and they instantly resumed business as usual.

Marguerite soothed Willie's tussled curls as he muttered seemingly incoherently in his sleep, the heiress nodded and readjusted his tiny pants. Roxton was once again baffled.

"Did he ask you to do that?"

Do what?"

Fix his pants there. A second ago he mumbled something, and you went right to it."

I didn't hear anything, Roxton. And his pants are fine"

Do you understand him when he speaks?"

He's not old enough to speak, John."

Not English anyway..." Roxton muttered as he silently picked up Willie from Marguerite's lap, and deposited him on his back. They had made an additional sling-like contraption, made out of the old bed clothes in the sodie, apparently Marguerite's mainly wicker one was a tad uncomfortable for long travel.

As Roxton bent down again to retrieve Marguerite, she placed her hand about his neck and kissed him soundly. He hoisted her up to her feet, and then wrapped his arms securely around her, their lips never loosing contact. She murmured slightly when Roxton deepened the kiss, allowing themselves a little alone time while the toddler was fast asleep. When Marguerite pressed herself fully against him, she was rewarded by a crisp growl from the hunter, and a slight stirring from Willie.

He bent down and pressed their foreheads together. They sighed in unison.

Been a while"

Hmmhmm"

Hmmhmm."

I missed you."

Any further interlude was interrupted by the awakening of the newest addition to their family. It was long past breakfast, and they still had the day's boat ride ahead of them. Today they were to find the inland sea, or at least a channel that led from wherever they were now, to their tree house a tad faster. And the fastest route thus far considered was definitely by boat. They had slept an hour away from the ocean, or that huge body of water that freakishly resembled an ocean but remained fresh water, and they were to travel to the edge, fix up the boat, gather supplies and of course go sailing.

Their foreheads remained in contact until a distinct cry erupted into the silence of the jungle. Roxton instantly broke contact, reached behind him and hauled Willie up from the sling and into Marguerite's arms. He led the way, with hands secured with Marguerite and his small stolen-firearm. Marguerite silently cooed to the little man, who in turned made small fussy noises. Breakfast had been long awaited.

Roxton collected camp while Marguerite tended to the meal. Willie nibbled at a piece of dried raptor, which helped with his teething, while he teetered on Marguerite who sat cross-legged. The hunter just watched mesmerized as the little man bobbed silently on Marguerite's heels. They were facing each other, and each was completely taken with each other. Willie giggled while Marguerite ate politely and Marguerite laughed unabashed when Willie smashed all of his food into his mouth at one time. Marguerite cleaned him up quickly and then held out a piece of mango for him to eat. The little man held his mouth open wide and his eyes twinkled. With an eyebrow raised, the heiress stuck the fruit inside Willie's mouth, who himself was surprised. They both giggled when little fingers grabbed another piece of fruit, held it out and intended to return the favour.

When Willie was secured on Marguerite's back, and the pack on Roxton's, Marguerite offered her hunter his breakfast.

"Mango, John?"

"Aren't you going to peel it for me?" the hunter inquired with a devilish look to his eye.

It is peeled... oh." Their eyes met with the familiar conversation. "You wouldn't be starting something you can't finish?"

I think that was you last time."

The first time they had this conversation they had been enjoying a leisurely day together, just themselves, alone in the jungles of a South America Plateau, and ended up fighting pirates for stolen treasure. Hopefully today's excursion would go a little smoother, and with a little less deception. One could always hope.

They shared a brief sinful moment, and a briefer kiss, and then started their long journey.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been quite the day, they had fixed the boat, set sail, and quieted a rather sea sick toddler. Roxton, Marguerite, and Willie were all safely ashore on an island they figured was home. They had taken a short cut through the in-land sea, and had managed to reach the dry seabed within the hour.

"Roxton?" Marguerite beckoned from half-way up a mango tree.

...Roxton?"

Yes, Marguerite?"

"Catch this so it doesn't smash" Marguerite threw a handful of small ripe fruit at her favourite hunter.

You be careful up there. Where's Will?"

Where do you think he is?" Marguerite said as she shifted her weight to show the distressed hunter the toddler tethered to her back.

Marguerite smirked at the look of pure horror on Roxton's face. The little man giggled as he snatched a piece of rotten fruit and flung it at the victim below.

The heiress laughed slightly and then realised her fault.

"William John... that wasn't very nice."

The child continued to laugh as the heiress attempted to scold the child behind her. When she gave up, Marguerite dismounted her spot from the tree and climbed down. A couple steps from the ground her grip faltered and Marguerite slipped slightly. Luckily the hunter was quick to the stride and he held her up and against him by the hips.

"You have to be more careful"

Really John, we're fine. Oh, and William apologises, now don't you Will?"

The heiress was placed back on the ground, and she took out a handkerchief. She leaned up against Roxton, and lifted one hand delicately to his face. Marguerite wiped the spoiled fruit off Roxton's face and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"All better"

You've got to stop taking chances like that, Marguerite."

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and William, Lord Roxton.

Look Marguerite... just."

I know John, I know." When the tense and rather terse conversation was over, the toddler began stirring.

Just another day on this damned plateau, isn't that right Willie?"

The heiress said as she lifted the small boy out of the sling. As soon as Will was comfortable in his mother's arms, the hunter shifted slightly and tensed. Marguerite was already behind him and against the tree when his arms motioned her to move. Marguerite held her breath as a party of raptors were clear in their sights, feasting on some rather gruesome remains. Roxton shielded the child from the view, while Marguerite attempted to keep him quiet. The raptors came clearer into view, their deadly talons poised to strike as they sniffed out the intruders to their little party. Even the boy seemed to tense as the beasts drew closer. The hunter was positioned with his back protecting his family, and his miniscule weapon drawing no fear. They had one gun and only a few scarce bullets. Cleante just couldn't spare another, and even if she had three guns Marguerite wouldn't have taken them.

William sensed the danger. He hid his face in the clothes of his mother, willing the world away. Roxton stood dumbfounded as the heiress spouted out some other nonsensical words to soothe the frightened child. Surely she would be conscious of this one. Even the hunter felt comforted as he bathed in the delicious warmth of her musings.

A short popping sound and the greenest of flashes erupted into the darkened skyline. The hunter swore he could feel the wind stop, the birds were no longer chirping, and plateau life had all but stopped. It was an eerie feeling and it coursed through his veins like a poison. They all maintained the odd tableau until the repeated flashings had stopped. In the blink of an eye the raptors were gone. A mist had taken their place, removing them from existence with a touch of fog. Roxton did not like this at all.

The child was the first to sense all was back to normal. He spoke to Marguerite and certainly not in English. The hunter half-turned, still expecting danger to return, and watched as Marguerite answered Willie in the same language.

"What did you just say?"

Really Roxton this isn't the time to play games. Not with the day we've been having."

I'm serious Marguerite. You just said something to Willie."

I did not." The heiress said with stout determinism in her eyes. She would here no more about this topic; it was eerie and frightening to say the least. Losing control of either her mind, or her tongue frightened the hell out of her.

They locked eyes for the briefest of moments, all seriousness and earnest.

"I swear I heard you say something."

I know John. I know you did."

And with that the conversation was ended. A change of clothes for all, a brief but cold stint in the pond, and they were off for the next leg of the journey. Staying the night in that place was not in question. All wanted to gain as much distance as possible before they succumbed to sleep. But the toddler of course, was fond of sleeping on the road.

"Roxton, How long have we been walking?"

Wouldn't know, Marguerite. Challenger's the one with the timepiece."

Right well...," the heiress said as she stared into the dimly lit sky, "looks past dusk."

"Indeed. Here's as good as any."

Spoken like a man."

The hunter grunted his reply. Their campsite was small, and well protected. They were situated on a river bed that looked strangely familiar. It was similar to the Summerlea River, however the placement was wrong. The explorers just chocked it up to the ever changing plateau and their weird extravagant surroundings. Or "Just another day in this godforsaken place."

They bedded down in safety but by morning their situation would freakishly change.


	4. Chapter 4

It was cold. The morning was brisk. And the hunter awoke alone.

He felt it in the pits of his stomach and the recesses of his heart. He was alone. His eyes were closed and he could hear voices. He sought desperately for the ones he longed to hear. He couldn't bear opening his eyes just to find out he was without her; without them.

He had fallen asleep with one arm under Marguerite and the other ruffling little Will's curly top. He looked so much like his mother. He had dreamt quite possibly the happiest dreams in a very long while. He usually never remembered his dreams, if they were pleasant at all. The guilt in his heart didn't allow for such happy thoughts. He dreamt they were all back in London, better yet in Avebury at the family estate. They were a family. It was so realistic. Sure, they'd still bicker. Sure, they'd have fights about secrecy... but truly Roxton thought they were happy. He knew they'd have to return to the plateau, when Willie was old enough, they'd return. He would build them a separate tree house. Small and cosy, and in that large tree right by their former house. There'd be room to expand, and indoor plumbing and Roxton was working out the details in his mind when he surfaced from his dream.

He felt pain. Whether physically or otherwise he couldn't tell yet. He felt like he went ten rounds with a T-Rex. He felt her absence before anything else.

And then he heard the familiar voices again.

Challenger?!? Grab the First Aid Kit!" screamed Veronica as she put Roxton's head in her lap.

"Looks like he's been out for a while." said Malone as he checked Roxton for injuries.

Roxton? Wake up. Rather rude of you to show up after three years and not even make an appearance." Challenger said wearily as he probed Roxton for head wounds.

He can't have been wandering alone for almost three years can he?" Malone asked aloud.

Knowing Roxton, as we do, he wasn't far from Marguerite." Answered Challenger flatly. "Pass me the smelling salts, quickly Ned. The scientist opened a small bottle and held it under Roxton's nose. "This sound help revive him. It's a special remedy of mine, also an effective rodent poison."

Roxton felt a numbing pain in the back on his head, but slowly he opened his eyes to the harsh light.

"Marguerite?"

"No, old boy. I'm afraid it's just us. You do remember us? Challenger, Malone, and Veronica?" the scientist asked in a worried tone.

"Been a while, eh Roxton?" Ned said as he helped Roxton to a sitting position.

His head was still blurry and he couldn't quite make out how things had gotten so dire, and entirely confusing.

"We were here... We made camp. My gun right there. I fell asleep...and then that's it."

"It's obvious he's been through some kind of traumatic experience, Veronica fetch some water for the canteens." The scientist said quietly.

'I'm fine, I'm fine. Where's Marguerite? Already at the tree house having a bath, I assume?" The hunter said trying to calm his rising fear.

No, John. All we've seen is you. We've been scouting this area for days with no signs of life." Challenger replied solemnly.

This can't be right. They'd never leave me. She'd... She'd never take him away." The hunter said quiet and low.

Veronica mouthed the word "they?" to Malone and received a shrug in return.

The hunter quickly got to his feet, which he instantly regretted. He swayed slightly, not liking the sickly feeling building in his stomach. Whether it was due to their absence, or some poison, he didn't really care. He just needed them back.

Whoa there, we _will_ look for 'them' Roxton." Veronica said with slight skepticism in her voice, "But right now you have to rest. You've got some nasty side effects that may take a while to wear off."

The hunter just nodded, as Veronica dabbed his face with a cool wet towel.

"I don't like this Challenger." Malone said as he knelt close to the river where Challenger was refilling canteens.

"I don't either. It can't be mere coincidence that our paths collided this way." Challenger replied wearily.

"We've been searching for three years, and he's the first sign they're even alive."

Can't be a coincidence." The scientist grumbled a reply.

"What do you think he meant by 'them' Challenger."

Perhaps, Marguerite and Roxton picked up a friend along the way home." Challenger said as he patted the younger man's shoulder in an effort to quench his overactive curiousness.

Perhaps..." Malone said to Challengers retreating back.

Ned, he wasn't kidding. There are two sets of footprints walking away. One's Marguerite's I'm sure, but the other's smaller... much smaller." Veronica stated as she walked up to the reporter and broke his short reverie.

Smaller?" Malone repeated as he gave a questioning look to the jungle beauty.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

His name is William" Roxton's baritone echoed in the stillness of the treehouse. It had been a day. An entire day. They had made him drink some kind of tea when he regained consciousness. It knocked him out cold. He had slept for a ridiculously long time. Life seemed to blur.

Malone's hair deepened somewhat, now a darker brown. He had worry lines. No doubt taking point as the male hunter for their group. Someone to replace him.

Veronica seemed young as ever, although even she was touched by worry. Her youthful brow spotted a few wrinkles, mainly around the eyes. She sported a new outfit, new to Roxton evidentially. It was a tad less revealing, a tad more golden brown and covered more modestly than before. Still a tad risque for London perhaps. Her hair was longer, no doubt Marguerite's absence being felt and physically shown.

Challenger was looking a tad worse for wear. His reddish-hair once flourished, now tinged grey and looked soot-strewn. Roxton decided it looked distinguished.

The treehouse had not changed.

We break at dawn." The hunter said after he shook his head of all other thoughts, and changes.

Veronica laid a hand on the hunters shoulder, knowing all too well the resolve it took to delay search.

Challenger focused on what could be done about Roxton's various injuries, both present and past. The hunter's face did not relax from its persistence grimace. The scientist smothered his various wounds in some foul smelling goo and bandaged others. Roxton didn't really notice. His thoughts never traveled from Marguerite. What she smelled like the last time she was near. How soft her hair was. The little giggle Willie sputtered out when Roxton had pretended his hand got stuck in Marguerite's mane. The shriek Marguerite let out in protest, only to soften and tug his hair in return.

Roxton shook his head again. There was nothing he could do in the darkness.

He had answered a few of the thousands of questions the gang had thrown at him. He didn't really care if he was being civil. His whole body ached with one word: Protect.

He felt sick.

* * *

"You know how Marguerite can get as well as I do, Ned." 

"There's no way she just up and left, Challenger" Malone countered. The impromptu meeting in the larder was grating to his nerves. He didn't like gossiping or whatever it was behind Roxton's back.

Maybe she's changed, Ned. We all have." Veronica added, with a secret little smile for the reporter.

If Challenger noticed it he had the good grace to ignore it.

Well we're going to look anyway. If only for Roxton." Veronica said to the disappearing shape of the scientist. Going back to his lab no doubt.

"If she's gone, Roxton'll never be the same." Ned said quietly, for the huntress' ears only. "I don't think he'll get through this one."

I think you might be right, Ned." Veronica agreed, slipping her arm around the reporter casually. "let's just think positively, hope everything will turn out alright."

Marguerite would call you an eternal optimist."

When you see her, you can remind her." Veronica said as she steered them out of the pantry and back into the main rooms of the treehouse.

Veronica and Malone had just re-entered the main area when they saw Roxton's whole body jerk.

Veronica's hand swiftly moved towards her knife, still sheathed at her back. Malone fingered his pistol, now comfortably resting in a hand-made belt. A birthday present from a friend. It unmistakably doubled the female hunters. Challenger looked up from his cup of tea.

"Electric fence pulsed." Roxton said. His face taut as he listened carefully for any other noises. It could just be the jungle, but all of his senses were on alert. He survived on those alerts. They never were as strained as when Marguerite was in danger. Throw Willie into the mix, and Roxton was uber-tense.

"There it is again."

"Doesn't it pulse when the gate is opened?" the reporter asked of the quieted room.

"Shouldn't be a problem Roxton. We've recently added an extra locking mechanism to deter our smarter compatriots." Challenger spoke aloud.

Another pulse.

A gunshot.

The shot rang out into the forest. The hunter was instantly on his feet, but then plummeted back down as his injuries, and no doubt subsequent drugging forced his surrender.

The reporter went to the railing immediately, as Veronica ran to the elevator. Ned couldn't see two feet in front of him. The moon wasn't out, and clouds had reined in the light. Veronica stepped back as the elevator began its descent. It had been mid-way, as per the usual. They had been checking the rope the previous day, and hadn't wanted to risk any further movement.

Rifles were distributed, and Roxton was handed his elephant gun. He palmed the thick weapon, and felt control surge in him. It was a heady combination of anticipation and power, and it felt wonderful to regain.

Roxton visibly started when the lift hit the ground below with a thump.

He tensed as the seconds whirled around him. Any moment now, some thing, some horrible creature the lost world threw at them would enter their home. And he was armed. He was ready. He was damned near crazed at the thought of vengeance, of action, against the unseen forces of the plateau. It had taken away Marguerite and Will. His whole life. His family. It had taken away a part of his soul he was sure to never regain. He never willingly chose revenge, but now he revelled in it. Sweet and Pure revenge. Blood lust rose in Roxton as never before. The jungle would pay for its sins tonight.

When the elevator reached its target, Roxton gun was poised at head level, a bold loaded. Before he could think, much less shout a warning a shot boomed.

"Bloody hell, Roxton, Don't shoot me!" Came a loud screech from the elevator. Marguerite was crouched low on the lift's floor, head lowered.

A gasp traveled throughout the room.

Dear god, are you okay?" Challenger shouted as he barrelled towards the woman. A look had exchanged between he and the hunter, and the scientist had opted to act first.

"I will once you men lower the damn guns. Fine homecoming this is. And when did you go changing the locks?" Marguerite scowled as she slumped on the floor.

"You scared us." Was the only reply Ned could think of. He watched rather sheepishly as Veronica returned her knife to its place, and put a calming hand on his back.

As Challenger helped Marguerite up, he noticed that she was covering something with her posture.

"I, uh, can I take your pack?"

Not unless you're going to be feeding him in two hours." Marguerite quipped as she unbundled the sleeping toddler. She had cradled his body in the seconds before the shot with her own. She saw Roxton's face before it hit home. He couldn't see her, only the fight she represented. He was already forgiven, not that there was anything to forgive. Hell even her nerves were wrecked.

I gather you're William?" Challenger said as he addressed the sleeping child.

Marguerite just nodded and smiled lightly as the scientist helped her to her feet. Veronica was over in seconds flat. Arms held out sternly. _Instant Aunt. _Marguerite thought inside her head. Unwilling to miss a babysitting opportunity Marguerite shifted her hold on the child.

Veronica placed a loving hand on Willie's head and quietly uttered "He's definitely got your hair, Marguerite." And there it was. An instant welcome. No questions. No judgements. Just a warm loving welcome to their family. A true family.

And my tangles." Marguerite said with a warm smile for the huntress. "Also my temper but we don't share a penchant for life on the trail."

Marguerite watched as Veronica kissed the top of Willie's head, and carried him to show Willie off to Ned and Challenger. She then sauntered towards Roxton. He still hadn't moved from his spot at the dinner table. His eyes were fixed on the very large hole in the elevator.

"Miss me, John?" Marguerite said with a slight silly smile for her favourite troubled hunter.

His eyes met hers and then lowered into his china cup.

Will and l had quite the adventure. Got trapped in one of those shinny shimmery time travel things. Wasn't that exciting however, I ended up about a mile from the treehouse and we didn't even change centuries. Challenger'll have to amend his notes."

Marguerite continued the one-sided conversation as she picked up a cup of her own and poured herself some tea.

She sank down and let out a very long sigh.

"It's not coffee, but it sure hits the spot." She took a long sip and then glanced about the room. Apparently the others thought they needed to be alone.

John..." Marguerite whispered as she set down her cup and manoeuvred onto the man's lap. She smiled at herself. She could break any man.

The instant her arms wound about his neck, Roxton buried his head in her hair and sank into the feeling.

"I could have killed you both." He uttered very quietly into her neck.

"Well sure John, but Challenger does that daily with his contraptions. Just try not to aim at my head next time."

I can try" Roxton said as his hands smoothed up and down Marguerite's back. "You really didn't travel anywhere time-wise?" Roxton asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Nope. Just around the treehouse."

It's been four years since the last of those shimmers disappeared. It shouldn't have been this easy to get home. No raptors, ape men, slavers, no one Marguerite. "

"And three since we've been home. Home, John. Running water,_ hot_ running water. Clean clothes damn it. We'll worry about it tomorrow."

Roxton threw her a sceptical look and a raised eyebrow. She raised one in return, and gave a smirk. Well at least one of them would worry about it tomorrow.

She kissed him long and hard, and then bounced off his knee.

"They're coming back up, and I'd really like to get out of this getup." Marguerite said as she pointed to her black knee length dress she had borrowed from Cleante. "Challenger,-" Marguerite hollered towards the lab, "please tell me the water's heated."

Primed and Ready, my dear." Said the elderly man as he ventured up the stairs carrying a sleeping Will. "Going to make a scientist out of this one, mark my words."

Marguerite rolled her eyes and replied, "You might just be a godsend, George." Before she ran off in search of a warm shower. "I'll be ten minutes." She was half an hour.

It was a full forty-five minutes before coffee had been brewed, for Ned and Marguerite specially, and conversations and explanations had begun. All were curious, and more than a few things were left out.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Marguerite was sitting on the small bench overlooking the vast expense of the jungle, high about their jungle home thinking about what a week it had been.

It had been a glorious week-long celebration of their reunion. They had gone to the Zanga to meet Assai and her four children, all of which were news to Marguerite and Roxton. Roxton had carried Will all the way to the village their second day back. Marguerite barely suppressed the emotion when her son had run off to play with the other children. It was so common-place, but she hadn't seen it before. He just up and left her. He came back not five minutes later, with pure excitement in his wide eyes, and an interesting bug for Roxton to kill. The rest of their motley crew ate and rejoiced at the celebrations, in honour of The Hunter's Return. The Zanga men swirled around with stories babbling from their incoherent lips as Roxton stared blankly back and tried to smile. Apparently the traitors that had kidnapped them were well known and rather dead now. The Zanga don't take lightly to kidnapping one of their own, which apparently they were. Roxton kills ape-men rather well, and the Zanga tend to share their hatred of the beasts, couple that with Veronica's ties, apparently they were all family. Marguerite's eyes had softened when she learned the gang had deployed, on numerous attempts, whole hordes of warriors to track them down. No doubt Veronica's doing.

She had stolen futile glimpses at Will when the others weren't looking. She was suspicious of her rowdy little boy. He had gotten along with the Zanga children so well it irked at her. Roxton was unyielding in his attempt to get some alone time at their celebration. A cramped tree house wasn't exactly what they were used to. Marguerite stared at the path the little man had taken, he ran obliviously through the crowds of people circling the fire pit, and ran unabashed towards his newly-found friends.

He would have quite the life here.

Will was dressed, somewhat annoyingly, in a cutesy jungle outfit, made especially by his Aunt Veronica. Brown overalls made of some kind of hide, he matched the jungle beauty. Marguerite knew that Will would be a child of the plateau, but something in her heart yearned for him to grow in England. Roxton's home, her... well not exactly home, but certainly her homeland. It had tradition, it was her turf. Somewhere where she knew how to play the game, win, and play all over again. The risks were taxes, and bank loans, surly auto salesmen, and lines at Harrods. Certainly not ape-men, avalanches, cannibals, and giant mimicking flower plant-like animals that would kill you. She wanted him to grow up there, to have both worlds under his command. If he was indeed a mixture of both of them: The Hunter and Herself, then he damned well should be able to walk in both worlds.

She would personally see to it.

Roxton clamoured back to her, to sit upon the big log right by the fire. He wordlessly handed her a drink, she eyed him sceptically and took it. They would play the game in silence then. Inside her heart tug a little, didn't matter how much time they spent together, or apart, they had their games to keep them going.

He nonchalantly looked into the mass of people, and casually placed his hand on her folded ones. She skimmed one hand loose, trailed it up his arm, and settled it on his thigh. No one was looking, so she dared to be so bold. She could feel the breath he took. Long and restrained. She had him where she wanted. He retracted his hand on hers, and placed it on her lower back. Neither was looking at the other. Neither could think of anything else.

Roxton shifted in his seat, and broke into full eye contact. He couldn't look away. Neither could she. An eyebrow was raised, a small sly smile returned. When Roxton leaned in to take advantage, Marguerite could hear the groan.

"Good times and Good friends, eh Roxton?" Challenger boomed while approaching the couple.

Oblivious or just tactful, Marguerite thought.

Roxton regained his posture, and took a hearty swig from their cup. It tasted sweet and sour, just a hint of bitterness. It suited him perfectly.

"Where is our little man? Dare say that boy's a genius."

"Just try to keep him in that Lab, George. Roxton's already got plans for his first hunt."

"Now, now Marguerite, knowing you that boy'll be smarter than wit."

"Why, George, what a lovely sentiment." Marguerite said slyly with a soft eye for her friend.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted her boy. Running around with the native children, splashing mud all over his party clothes. Eyes shining with glee as he flung dirt at another child. Then Marguerite's blood ran cold.

One of the tribal mothers came up to the children and offered them some fruit. Willie spouted off something and shook his head.

Spouted off something.

Will spoke, and it certainly wasn't in the King's English.

The woman smiled lightly, and went off to feed the other children. Willie continued his playing.

Roxton was right. Damn him, but Roxton was right.

In an instant, Marguerite called Will back. It shocked the hell out of Roxton and Challenger. Her frantic tone must have scared Willie as well because he bolted for his mother.

He was on her knee snuggling into her form in seconds.

Holding him with one arm, and Roxton's hand in the other, Marguerite rattled off some Zanga.

She asked, "Are you hungry, Will?"

Roxton squeezed her hand lightly, and understood her tone.

The boy answered rather politely. In Zanga.

"Will, speak English for Mummy."

Ate Mango." Came the reply as the boy pointed to Roxton. They had eaten a mango on the trail.

Challenger's eyebrows rose as he looked quizzically at the child.

"No doubt he's got your skill with languages, Marguerite." George said quietly. "He's at a good age to start talking. Though double languages is a bit... advanced." The scientist added after some thought on the correct phrase.

-------

It was days later before they knew just how advance the boy was. Marguerite was slowly running out of languages Willie didn't understand. Never full sentences, just his abrupt little responses. She would ask him something in Russian, and he would answer in Russian. The same for the Romantic languages, some African, and most of the plateau dialects.

Today had been Italian.

Vuoi alcuni rapaci, Will?"

Non ho piena, Mummy.

Apparently Will wasn't hungry for raptor.

So there Marguerite sat. Out on the balcony of her jungle home, high above the treetops. Her sleeping toddler in her arms, sputtering random languages in his sleep.

Damn if he wasn't the smartest of them all.

It scared her.

She knew how the world worked. She knew it firsthand. How one's talents can be manipulated, used, and thrown out when not of use. She'd die before he was used that way.

She just wished him a normal life.

Normal.

It was all she dared hope for.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Marguerite woke up to a bang. Willie with the pots. The boy was like a machine in the morning. Clearly the hunter's influence. There would be no stopping him today. It was the big day. The day Roxton had thought about for months, the day Marguerite dreaded. It was the big hunting day. The day William would show the world he was a hunter. Or in actuality it was close to Willie's fourth birthday, and Roxton had devised a scavenger hunt outside. Safe within the electric fence, double fortified by a doting Challenger, supervised by Aunt Veronica and Uncle Malone. Marguerite could sense the wistful, home-yearning in Roxton's entire form. He was remembering better days, if not better than certainly more youthful. Some great adventuresome estate, far into the English country side. A grand sprawling home, horses, and enough food for a daily feast. It was the house of her dreams, in childhood, and her foolhardy attempts at concocting the same in adulthood. Somehow it never lived up to the sentiments.

The boy was in his party clothes, this time sewn by Marguerite and not Veronica. No little jungle garbs for her English-boy. He would grow up English, or at least English-by-proxy. He already had quite the little accent, when he chose to use English. It was a mix between a slightly American, slightly British, and definitely plain old Zanga. They'd work it out later in life.

Marguerite dressed quickly, braided her hair away from the sight of little grabby hands, and ascended into the main room of the tree house. Coffee was brewing, fruit was on the table, Will was playing on the floor, Malone was at his desk writing, Veronica painting some picture, Challenger observing the wildlife, and everything was as it should be.

Except Roxton.

"Roxton gone for a dip? Tad early I'd say." Marguerite asked of the entire ensemble.

"He went out early for some hunting." came Challenger's distracted reply.

"Typical of the man." Marguerite muttered into her coffee cup. And only as soon as the liquid hit her tongue did her mood lift.

Willie chose that moment to climb up the chair and sit beside Veronica.

She smiled at the boy, and he watched as she delicately added colour to the portrait. It was of Will, naturally, for his birthday.

Presents weren't exactly a secret commodity around the tree house. The present was usually for everyone or for the house, since they were all adults. Cloth for Challenger's anniversary made clothes for everyone save Veronica. This was the first child's party they'd had. It was nice and comforting.

Marguerite hid little presents everywhere. She did have her way with hiding. In the morning, Roxton would see to it that a grand hunt would be played. She imagined the little lights in his eyes as he searched the treehouse. It was something she had longed to do as a child. Veronica might even fashion a treasure map, although it was in the first stages of development. The thought was what counted.

Everyone seemed to take Willie in; he had that natural quality about him. The Zanga noticed instantly, and welcomed him as their own. He spoke the language, almost as fluently as Marguerite, although his word choice was a tad limited. Marguerite noticed a reverence when they approached her child. It did nothing to sooth her soul. She kept hearing tidbits of things, just gossip and rumours. But there was a definite hum to the air. One woman had said in almost a hush, "The Chosen One and The Huntsman, and theirs." Marguerite pretended like she wasn't listening. She was rather good at that indeed. Roxton literally wasn't listening, and she envied his ignorance.

--

Challenger was lifting up the kettle to pour himself a bit of tea when he noticed the change in William. His back straightened, and his head tilted. His eyes shut for just a moment. Challenger watched the child quizzically. Marguerite had noticed too. She stared at him with intensity in her eyes. She had changed too. A slight altercation, still Marguerite, but somehow... it wasn't quite right.

He was completely baffled when William quietly uttered a whole line in some language. There was a serious-ness in his tone, the stone look to his face. The small boy's features changed into another version of himself. Marguerite spoke another phrase in the language and they began a conversation. Neither looked happy, nor like themselves. Challenger was sure he was witnessing some great phenomenon, or maybe hallucinating. Either was entirely plausible on this plateau. He looked around the great room and noticed that Malone and Veronica too were onlookers to this peculiar event.

The banter between them continued for several minutes. Challenger was hard-pressed to look away. In the end he settled to not try. Then in a split second, they snapped out of it. Marguerite returned to sipping her tea, William returned to tugging on her skirt. Neither mentioned the outburst, nor seemed to notice it.

"Marguerite are you alright?"

Just fine, George, how's the landscape? Find any disgusting new critters scurrying about?"

Challenger raised his eyebrows, and dejectedly bit into a ripe mango. Veronica stole a glance at William, but he seemed normal and happy as always.

It was a weird sense of normality. The air smelled like change.

Challenger continued to watch them interact for several more minutes before it happened again.

The look on the boy's face. The tilt of his head. This time Marguerite was the first to speak. It sounded rushed and frantic, nothing like the conversation of before. Veronica absently thumbed the knives at her back and stole a glance at her extra in her boot. Malone shifted to the rifle on the back of his chair. Even Challenger eyed his riffle, though it was too far to actually fondle.

It was another couple of tense, terse questions and seconds before they snapped back into reality.

"Can you hear that George?" Marguerite asked loudly.

Challenger gave her look of incredibility as she regained her character. The boy was playing with his feet.

"Hear what Marguerite?" Malone asked in Challenger's stead.

"Whatever it is it's coming from the jungle. We best check it out." Veronica answered, and motioned everyone to the elevator. She picked Willie up and placed him in the carrier-harness-hammock like contraption Challenger had created. She'd carry him. She liked the responsibility, plus the boy was a charmer.

Marguerite joined the crew with a riffle of her own, and turned the mechanism.

They were down to the ground in minutes. A foul smell perpetrated the area.

"Blood." Veronica stated rather matter-of-factly.

They looked around their small encampment until a small sound came from Willie. Marguerite's ears picked up the sound, and her body went numb.

Challenger watched it all unfold. The sound from the boy. The gunshot into the forest. Marguerite's frantic shouts at Veronica to take the boy upstairs. Veronica obeyed immediately. Malone ran with his riffle in tow after the heiress. Marguerite shooting wildly into the jungle.

Challenger stared at the open space in the yard. He then gathered his wits and ran after them. Heaven knows what stalled him.

He heard a raptor screech, and a blast from a riffle. The thud was unmistakeable. He rounded the path's turn, and came upon a frightening sight.

Marguerite hunched over, Malone fighting back emotion. Lord John Roxton lying prone on the jungle floor. There was no blood, no injuries to mar his frame. His eyes were open but lifeless.

Marguerite was smacking him. When he didn't return to her, she punched him squarely in the chest, then stomach. Both her hands were wailing on him when Challenger pulled her off. Her screams of protest were bloody. Challenger went to examine his friend. He wasn't injured. As far off as his medical expertise went, he looked damned near healthy. There was no pulse. Challenger attempted to revive the man. The heart just wouldnt beat. The man just woudln't live. Challenger lingered at his pulse-point for near 5 minutes. Not a single beat. By then his complexion had paled. His eyes rolling back with the slack. Challenger solemnly placed his hand over Roxton's face and drew down his eyelids.

Challenger hung his head in defeat. He turned ashamed at his failure, to meet Marguerite's stare.

There was a fire in her eyes. A pure steel glare emanated from her figure. A colour slight hampered the air around Marguerite. It had blue...silver quality Challenger couldn't quite place. He wondered if Malone noticed it.

Challenger rose and made a move to carry Roxton back to their compound.

He heard the revolver click.

"Touch him and I will kill you George." Marguerite said in a voice Challenger hadn't heard before.

George Challenger was actually quite frightened of the woman. Grief was rarely taken well, but this was entirely different.

Challenger lifted his arms in surrender, and back peddled around distraught woman. There was craziness in her eyes. This barely controlled anger, and emotion. Something was stolen from her.

Malone and Challenger retreated to a safe distance, and allowed the woman to circle Roxton's body.

She knelt by him, her back to her friends, and dipped her head in pain. It scorched through her like a wild flame.

Her eyes welled with tears, and they flowed on their own accord. She pounded the corpse with a fury unleashed. She fought the non-existent fight and when she could no longer move, she clutched his body. She was wracked with sobs, violent excruciating sounds emitted from her.

She couldn't think, save for one thought. It wasn't his time.

She placed her hands in his cold one daring his body to squeeze back. Her head on his chest, and she cried.

She finally passed out from the pain.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

She sat there. For hours she just sat there. She was conscious of only a few things. She was holding his hand. A raptors call blazed in the background. Her gun on her hip. The tears that threatened to fall again. Then one thought rambled through her head: it shouldn't have taken this long.

Somehow she knew Challenger, Veronica, and Malone would wait for her. Take care of Will until she returned, let her tell him. Somehow she knew a lot of things. His parting made a whole world open up for her, all of a sudden a part of her brain awakened. It scared the hell out of her.

She sat there and held his limp hand. She stared down at a mango that rested nearby. It had fallen from its tree in all the commotion. She continued to stare at the mango, until she heard a sharp gasp. Her eyes darted to his. His face still pale and ashen, certain stillness remained. She returned her gaze to the mango. She started to hate that mango. Then the gasp again. Instantly she was on her knees cradling his head. He coughed, and sputtered as his heart regained its beat. She kissed his head.

"Damn Marguerite, just how much did you put in my canteen?"

"Shut up John, just shut up." Marguerite said while tears flowed from her eyes once more. She continued kissing his head, little kisses everywhere until she was forced to close her eyes from the sheer happiness.

She pulled away as he tried to get up.

"It will take a while to wear off, best sit for a while."

"If it were any other company I'd protest... But." Roxton said with a glean in his eye. Marguerite merely chuckled a response.

You make friends?" Roxton said while eyeing the suspicious looking mango nearby.

"I was waiting for someone to peel it." Marguerite replied in a low voice.

Roxton formed an "Oh" with his mouth but stayed silent for a few moments.

"Guess they weren't kidding about the potency then eh."

"I can't go through that again, John. So this had better damn well work."

He placed his rapidly colouring hand in hers and squeezed. He knew the terror that his "death" must have caused. They weren't sure of the outcome, but he'd gone through with it anyhow.

Marguerite stiffened when Roxton yanked out his hunting knife. He motioned for the mango. She raised an caustic eyebrow, but then thought better of it and grabbed the fruit. He peeled a section, and held it for her to take off his knife. She took it and smiled warmly down at him. He bit solidly into the rest. A short sound of exclamation followed as the English Lord ate rest of the mango.

"The dead do have appetites after all" Marguerite muttered quietly.

"I don't like deceiving them Marguerite. They'll not take it lightly."

"If and when we get back, John, we'll explain it." Marguerite softened the words with a tender kiss to his forehead. He murmured slightly. A slow smile of gratitude fixed on his face. "Promise me." She said slowly.

"He won't be alone in life, Marguerite."

A small sad smile spread on her face and she blinked back tears. It was moments before either trusted their voices.

"You look awful."

"Yeah well you died." Marguerite responded flippantly but without the usual bite. "Are you ready?"

"I am if you are. Are you sure you can do this?"

Even less than usual, Lord Roxton." Marguerite replied as she shifted her hold on the man. She braced both hands on his shoulders, and stared into his eyes. She then closed her eyes, and he did the same. With a last kiss, and a squeeze of her hands on him, she concentrated as hard as she could. There was pain, mind-numbing pain that coursed throughout her entire body. But with the day behind her it felt cleansing. Her final thought was if she died her son would be alone. She heard nothing, saw nothing save for a blindingly white light. The light swirled around her with waves of blue and orange, resembling an odd mix of fire and water. Her fingers burned wildly but she kept her grip on Roxton fiercely. She felt the ground give way and her stomach bottomed out. She landed with a thump but her stomach had yet to regain its ground. She exhaled slowly and then frantically remembered her companion. Her eyes flailed opened and there sitting below her was Lord John Roxton, who smiled up at her.

She shared the smile briefly, until she scanned the room they were now in. It was small and bleak.

"Damnit. We're not there." Marguerite shrieked quietly and it echoed in their surroundings.

"Try and Try again, Marguerite. Have another go."

Are you sure you can handle it?"

"I can if you can." Roxton said before she gripped him again, and closed her eyes.

The pain this time was a tad more manageable and she was consistently aware of Roxton's presence. That boded well, apparently it got easier.

Another blinding flash and they entered into an ornate white room. Marguerite opened one eye sceptically and glanced again at her companion. He was smiling up at her again. She shook her head as relief flooded through her. Damn their luck.

"Ahem."

Two sets of eyes shot up and glared at the inhabitants of the room. There was a panel of people sitting at a desk. They were all wearing white, gold, blue, and red tunics.

Marguerite glared at the people interrupting their moment. For the first time in a very long time, she could hate the person who interrupted them. Damn that felt normal. A small squeeze from Roxton told her to rein in her temper. She'd tan his hide later.

This is what you wanted wasn't it?" Marguerite said into the hollow sounding room.

She was a tad fed up with the whole affair.

When no reply was uttered screeched. "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?? There you go!"

We wanted your son."

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

Marguerite blinked hard. She wasn't prepared for that, but she'd be damned to show weakness.

"Not part of the deal." She said with a straight face steady voice.

Roxton was struggling to get up beneath her forceful hand; she put another on his head and pulled him further up her lap. He sat there, confused but a little contented to be wrapped in Marguerite's arms. Not an unpleasant feeling.

After a slight moment, and a short conversation between the jury of people, all eyes returned to the newcomers to the room.

"What have you leaned?" asked the elderly man in the center of the semi-circle. He had kindly eyes, barely any white hair left on his spotted head, and had tiny spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.

"Do you think I walked here?" Marguerite replied in an irritated tone. She was getting a little fed up with the cloak and dagger routine, 30 odd years of it and one could tire easily.

The circle seemed unfazed by her tone, actually they looked rather pleased with themselves, or her, Marguerite couldn't quite pin down the expression. She studied their eyes in turn, puzzled by the expressionless glee they held.

"What of the child?" The elderly man asked again.

"Fine, perfectly healthy, and staying with friends. And he'll be staying that way, or this little deal we're making will be having some alterations." Marguerite answered while gesturing to the gun on her belt.

The entire sets of eyes lit up, Marguerite saw sincere happiness and something along the lines of relief in their eyes.

Roxton was again persisting that he get up; Marguerite eventually relented and helped him set to his feet. Once they were both standing, two chairs emerged into the room carried by a blinding red light. Both eyes widened in surprise, but a weary Marguerite was not going to let a cushy leisure go by. As soon as they were seated, the found themselves encompassed in an entirely new set of clothes.

Roxton noticed her tight fitting oxford and riding pants were gone. She was dressed in a red and black ensemble, slits up to her claves, with brownish fabric covering her legs. The top failed to cover her midriff. The view is unmistakable, he's seen it before.

Roxton is dressed, not in his usual attire, but in a sleek black shirt and black flowing pants, a black and red sash acts as a belt. His guns and hat are missing.

"I'm going to be needing those back." Roxton said with an aggravated tone. Marguerite looked less than pleased about her lack of weapons herself.

The room held silence while the group of strangers looked amongst themselves.

"She is all you need."

"Me?!" Marguerite shrieked. "I don't know about you people, but we get hurt easily. Now just hand back over the weapons and I won't do anything rash." She flourished with her hands, palms up facing the crowd.

The spectators' gleeful looks turned inward, and Roxton saw primal fear course through their eyes.

"They seem to have a lot of confidence in you." Roxton whispered to his companion's ear.

"Here's hoping I don't let them down, they don't exactly look like the forgiving kind." Marguerite whispered back.

The eldest man pushed the glasses further back on his nose, and addressed the couple.

"The weapons are non-negotiable. But when you have completed your task, they will be returned to you without harm. For now," The man flourished his hands; a blue light cascaded around Marguerite's middle, and Roxton's side. "These must do."

A very large scabbard appeared tethered to Roxton's shoulder, sharp and deadly. Roxton's eyes lit up in appreciation. Underneath the protective leather Roxton noticed a curved machete, with serrated edges. It is etched with black and red runes.

Marguerite looked down and saw a whip wrapped around her waist, and felt a dagger slip into her leggings. The cool blade reminding her of the reality of the situation.

"These really are quite nice, and we'd love to stay and chat, but if you could just point the way so we could start this little journey of yours." Marguerite stated with an overly agreeable tone.

"You have already started. Do not think the path is just ahead of you, it is also behind you."

The explorers looked at each other with shared glances of confusion, hesitation, and more confusion.

"I don't like this Marguerite." Roxton tilted his head and whispered.

"I doubt we're supposed to, John"

"This... You wouldn't happen to be the force behind whatever conveniences we've been running into?"

"Really, John I wouldn't call our lives convenient." Marguerite countered to his scowl.

"We are merely guides; however we had to intervene when it was demanded."

"Demanded by who?"

"Whom, John," Marguerite corrected absently.

"I doubt now's the time for grammar lessons."

Okay, okay, interrogate away." Marguerite said with a dramatic hand gestures.

We only level the field, hunter. We do not tip it in anyone's favour. We bestow balance."

Happy now, John?"

Immeasurably."

The light of happiness had returned to the onlookers. Their clothing changing colour with their faces, swirls of red, brown, and black interchange with each other.

"It is time for you to go." The elder spoke again. He motioned to a newly opened door, a guard eased out of the space, kneeling towards the group, and then bowing in the direction of the explorers.

"Going to have to get used to that, Marguerite."

I don't plan on being here that long, Lord Roxton."

Marguerite placed her hand in Roxton's extended one, as he led them through the open gateway.

They found themselves immediately surrounded by a great blue light. In the whiteness there are swirls of black, brown, and red. The air is thick, and moist with fog. When the light disperses, Marguerite's tight braid is gone, her hair wild and free. Roxton's hat is perched upon his head once more.

"Apparently they rethought about the hat."

It's essential to a good hunt." Roxton said while picking the hat up, skimming his hand through his hair and replacing the hat on his head.

The woman laughed, and then touched the hard leather strapped to his chest.

"Pity they didn't rethink about the guns."

We'll play it their way for now; we're on their turf Marguerite."

Just what kind of turf _are_ we on Roxton?" Marguerite said as she eyed the surroundings.

They were in the middle of a jungle. It was eerily quiet, no birds, no animals, and no dinosaurs.

With Marguerite's hand on the hunter's elbow, they took the first step into the foliage.

"Whoa."

A small dirt path, lined with black, red, and brown stones emerged in the jungle.

I guess they'd like us to follow"

Nice of them to point the way."

They approached the path with caution, but after a few steps relaxed into the stride.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

A leader can't lead until he knows where he's going, Roxton. And you've gotten us lost again."

Why Marguerite, how very philosophic of you." Roxton replied while spinning around to confront the irate woman. "What happened to just following the lovely path laid out before us."

Damn it John, the last time we did this we had Malone to run interference with quick sand. It's not like we have a fail safe here."

We've also got someone to come home to."

They exchanged weary nods and decided the best course of action.

The explorers had taken their route from the appearing path that had been so nicely laid out before them. Unfortunately, as in most of these situations, the path had diverged into a fork. Not knowing which way, and unwilling to separate, Roxton and Marguerite were at an impasse. And impasses led to arguments, which led to making up, which led to sleeping to the right of the path and waiting for morning. They bed down, weary and trail worn, but content and together, wrapped up in each other and their bedding. In her sleep, while under the hunter's protective gaze, Marguerite dreamt of all things good, of Willie and London, and of all things bad. With the bad came memories, both past and future, and she became lost to the memories. As she twitched in her sleep, disturbed by images and thoughts, Roxton enhanced his hold and brought her into his embrace tightly. As she wept in her sleep, the hunter wrapped himself around her, and she seemed to quiet down some. She didn't twitch away painfully when he kissed the tears on her cheek or drew his hand around her back. She kept breathing in his scent, and felt comforted by his strong hold. She would return, night after night, to the same startling dream. To running into that damn clearing, of seeing her lover's body cold and alone, of attempting to shake him awake, and of being unsuccessful. In her dreams, Roxton had not woke up. A few times, her situation would shift years in advance, she would be alone out in the real world, raising the son of an English Lord, and unable to prove his legitimacy. Her beautiful child, her lovely funny child, would be labeled a bastard in the outside world. He came from love, and he would subjected to her old life. He came from a love so strong that they couldn't resist, married or not, her child was not illegitimate. Her life of rumors and taunts, and unable to prove her worth in a society that deemed family as above all in importance.

In the morning, she wouldn't fully remember her troubling thoughts, or she pretended that she didn't. Roxton too would keep up the facade, and would never mention it.

While they were eating a scant breakfast of nuts and berries, Marguerite abruptly turned conversation from food to family.

"I miss him."

I'd never take you for a worrier, Marguerite. We left him with a genius, a female hunter, and a newspaper man. What exactly could happen?"

What if he's learned what I've learned, John?" Marguerite countered in a small and weak voice. It was barely audible but the hunter heard it loud and clear. She was afraid for her child, afraid of herself, and afraid of what their little ruse had caused.

I highly doubt the little man has even noticed. Probably reading Shakespeare in latin, and playing with your jewels. Veronica will keep him entertained. Hell last time we weren't even gone for a moment."

Marguerite managed a weak and watery smile, and thanked him silently for his distraction. But she could tell in his eyes that he too was worried. They had cheated death, once again, in order to unlock untold powers. She had been told that in order to achieve her desires, she must lose her soul mate. She just didn't know how much it would hurt, or whether Willie would be affected. She still bore the scars, thick and aching, within her body and on her mind. On the outside she was the strong and unaffected Marguerite of the past, but in reality and her hunter's eyes, she was the frightened lover and mother, who had almost lost everything. He saw the brief quiver under her mouth, and the tears that would not fall unless in solitude. The sheer determination in her jaw was displayed, and the hard steel resolve set in her eye that was her determination to get home safe. Their mission must be accomplished, and there was no alternative. So they ate in friendly silence, exchanged pleasantries and a passionate kiss, packed up and chose their route.

"You're awfully quiet, any thoughts on the choice Marguerite?"

"Why, there's left, and unforeseen doom, or we could choose right and be presented with more unforeseen doom. Such choices, Lord Roxton." Marguerite said dryly.

I shall never get tired of your wit, my dear. And I never will tire of seeing so much of you." Roxton chuckled while extravagantly eyeing the usually modest Englishwoman's scant attire.

Just be glad they actually gave us weapons. I have a feeling that these –"Marguerite said while gesturing towards her palms and hands, "would be our only option."

And here I thought complete faith was hard to come by."

Apparently not. And your attire, Lord Roxton, is quite becoming of an English Lord. Wouldn't you say?" Marguerite uttered quietly and full of desire as she lightly drew her finger over the broad chest of the hunter.

You keep doing that and we will never leave." Roxton said while surreptitiously drawing his hand over her bare midriff and flowing skirt.

After a brief meeting, the softest of kisses, and combined grunt of frustration, Marguerite and Roxton parted and chose the left side of the path.

They walked for roughly a mile before the path abruptly ended.

"Uh, it is just me or have we run out of walking room?" Marguerite said as she turned and eyed her favourite who was too quiet, and didn't respond to her.

Roxton was stalk straight, staring into the forest with a stern resolve in his eyes. Marguerite visibly startled, and took in a sharp breath, when tears threatened to fall from his eyes. She grasped his hands, both in her one, and turned to see the unspeakable terror that rendered her hunter speechless.

She turned on her heel, and the breath was taken out of her. Her eyes watered as she took in the blood trail, the feasting raptors, the circling vultures, and the dead body.

Before she could crumple to the ground, before she could pass out from the pain, before anything, Marguerite let out a small pained utterance.

Oh, William."


	11. Chapter 11

Marguerite looked over at the sleeping man beside her. His hair was almost entirely grey, with edges of white, but still full and thick. His contented form belayed no worries as he slept. His possessive streak still flared from time to time, evidence of a life hard spent. His arms encircled her and he held her tightly. A small smile edged his lips. His glasses lay on the table beside the bed, with a book under them. He wore them only marginally when his eyes ached with strain. Marguerite chuckled internally at her secretly vain mate. His body was still virile and bulky, but softening somewhat in his age. His face had more lines, but then so did hers. His long johns were now made of hide, and not cotton. They were sewn with love from Marguerite, although it was mostly because his others were threadbare and rough with age. On his feet were sandals and not boots, because of an intense volcanic eruption and in his haste for safety they had melted. The real story included him shucking her on his shoulder and carrying her like a ragdoll to safety, because he was unwilling to let her travel in lava alongside him. It was something kept hidden from a certain reporter friend who would have scandalized the issue. The fact that she was pregnant and willing notwithstanding.

On his body were handmade shirts and pants, although following in the previous custom now held a more tranquil design, and not washed eternally with lye and starch. His shirt had frayed at the ends, where he had ripped off his sleeves for a bandage or some such, and she had neglected to re-sew it. It had been that way for years. His pants, now more hide than cotton, and more pantaloon than khaki, suited him just fine. They both wore shorter length pants, and had opted for darker colours, mainly so cleaning wouldn't be such a hassle.

And on his head lay eternally his hat. It might not have been the original, but it was certainly the most treasured. He had lost his hat, many years ago, in a swamp. Ned had asked him point blank many, many, times about how he had lost it. The reporter was certain there was something behind the vague notion that Roxton could have surrendered the hat without a fight. The truth in that statement was glaring. The hat was lost as it was tipped over by a branch. The facts that he was currently occupied by both running away from Cannibals, jostling both their packs, and assisting a screaming injured Marguerite went casually unmentioned.

She still remembered the look on his face as she presented him with her gift. It had been an anniversary of sorts for her, but for him he was puzzled. So, he opened the burlap wrapped shape with apprehension, after thanking her and quickly scanning his memory for any past argument they might have had. He was presented by an almost exact duplicate of his hat. The only thing different was his name emblazoned on the inner band, followed by the stitching of a small heart beside it. It was nothing overly romantic, nor deeply affectionate, but he thanked her with deep sentiment in his eyes. And then thanked her with his body.

Every year after that she had repeated the gesture, and he his own. It became tradition that although a little absurd became necessity, after several lapses in judgement and the loss of many hats. Her hat, oddly enough, stayed as black as her hair, and didn't seem to age. Roxton was near certain that she replaced hers as well, but caution and her ire deemed it unnecessary for him to ask. He was actually beginning to figure out her personality and the little quirks that made him love her. But even after all these years he had yet to fully understand her. Her beautiful hair was tinged with grey in the temples, but remained as thick as ever. It was past her hips in length now, and Roxton refused to let her cut it. It was a half-assed argument on both parts, as it was fought wrapped up in each other, laying in bed awaiting sleep.

It had taken years of patience, on both their parts, but finally he had carried her over the threshold of their own home. She cried and laughed, and repressed a giddy shriek as his muscular frame attacked her in the treehouse. He carried her onto the elevator and completely ignored the astonished looks from their companions. He then trekked the half-mile to their home, the distance both for privacy and for the lack of good location. She was shocked as he stepped into their own lift made of deep cherry wood, and it carried them up towards their own treehouse. It might not have been the Savoy, or the Ritz, or very glamorous at all, but it felt like home. It had three levels, and two pantries, and best of all a giant soaker tub. Marguerite had bargained a Shaman at a local tribe for the treasure, and actually traded fairly with him. There was no way she'd welch on a deal that precious. They'd furnished it themselves, slowly as Roxton finished the structure. The original treehouse had housed their accumulating goods in the many empty rooms, but slowly Roxton had been removing their things. Their home needed to be sturdy, and Roxton had made triple-sure that it was secure. Getting help from their resident reporter and scientist, and sometimes their female-hunter, the beams were properly adjusted to support four times the weight needed, just in case. And Marguerite had had the perfect opt-out, although this time she actually didn't want it.

As he carried her towards the back parts of the structure, she saw that they passed a nursery. A small tremor ran through her and she was kicked in the kidney. From the inside. The small annoyance lit up her face, and she frowned at the man carrying her. "_It's a damn boy again, Roxton."_ She said in a half bemused, half mock- annoyed voice.

The man just smirked back at her, and continued carrying her.

Marguerite groaned inwardly under the quilt at the passage of time. _Had it really been that long? _Yes, they had survived their many pitfalls, and yes they've lived quite the lives, but surely that that many years, bordering on a decade _or two??_, hadn't passed. She still felt relatively young. And if a kick in the abdomen was any consolation, she really was still young. She was still petite as always, a fact that Roxton mentioned every time she looked less than amused at the growing piles of laundry. Or the sewing duties of the day. Or milking the goat. Or eating supper. Or getting dressed. Or getting undressed. Really... the man mentioned such things far too often.In turn, Marguerite favoured his muscles and broad chest, as she kissed him awake in the morning. _Ah, the sweetness of privacy._

Roxton shifted and groaned beside her, not awake but not asleep, and rolled over to pin her to the bed. His hand splayed on her stomach, the other to cup her breast, as he moaned and possessively threw a leg over her.

She rolled her eyes at his sleeping form. He grunted, and nipped at her neck.

He continued his half-assed ministrations until a certain clanging in the main room below in their treehouse woke him up fully.

"Terribly sorry Marguerite, Don't know what came over me."

"Mmm, we'll have to build another treehouse if you keep that up."

Roxton chuckled quietly and stole another kiss before half-leaping out of bed and dressing.

As Roxton left the room, Marguerite heard herself shouting after him, "_And make sure Will feeds the damn goat this time, John. He'll eat the whole jungle if we let him."_

William.

And Marguerite was shocked back into the present reality. She must have passed out from the pain. She felt Roxton's solid bulk beneath her, and his hand rested heavily at her pulse point. She then felt the terrible pain seep out of her, and exit her body. When she opened her eyes she was met by Roxton's inquisitive glance.

He quietly stuttered out, "That wasn't William, Marguerite. He's okay, I think. I'm sure of it. But-"

Before Roxton could finish, Marguerite saw a red flash of smoke seep from her fingers, and Roxton helped her sit up. She leaned her back against his solid chest, and felt the shock subside. A red glare shot out of her hands so fast she wasn't sure she wasn't dreaming. In an instant the raptors disappeared as did the blood trail and the solemn body. All that was left was jungle.

"That was one hell of a test." Roxton stated after a few moments.

Yes, But I know we'll past the rest." Marguerite said with a conviction that had been long lost. There was a gleam in her eye, and Roxton kissed her quick, lest he break his nerve.

He knew the statement traveled farther than just their situation. He knew it extended to forever.


	12. Chapter 12

She smoothed back his hair from his forehead and cupped his face as she kissed him hard and hot. His hands tentatively tangled at the back of her head, and after some coxing with her tongue, He pressed her head closer to his. He broke the kiss, and trailed his mouth from her cheek to her shoulder, where he left a dark purple mark.

Marking your territory?" Marguerite gasped out as her knees began to fail her.

He stopped for a moment, pulled back and stared intently into her eyes.

Do I have to?"

"Why would you ask that?" The tone of her voice was a half-octave higher than usual, and the look on her face was pure fiction. He knew her long enough to know when she was lying, or at the very least not saying something.

There is something decidedly unnerving about your answer, dear."

Every answer I give you is unnerving. That's just my warm personality." She said wryly.

Do you love me?"

The question was neither timid, nor demanding. It was more of a statement than an actual question.

How could someone not love you?"

That isn't a damn answer, Marguerite!" His sharp words stung her more than an actual slap would. The slap she would have seen coming.

And do you have an answer for me, Gregori?"

You know I would do anything for you, Marguerite. "

Ah yes, but is that love?"

That earned her a smack for her trouble. She should have known from the moment she spotted the gin and the look in his eye. His mistress was probably out of town, or possibly with her other "homme de richesses". She was only the second tart that caught her husband's eye. Marguerite supposed she was the original. Then again, she wasn't above the declaration of tart. She was using him for money, societal freedom, and of course the democratic visa she could use to travel almost anywhere. At almost 22, Marguerite couldn't picture herself in a better position. Two years ago, the nuns were pushing her towards the convent, now they'd positively die at her sins. She should take a trip back, and let them sneer at her. It was either that, or Venice for Christmas again. Her heart had hardened from the first moment she was smacked into the world. How fitting that she would probably die that way too. For wasn't that the way? Women like her got tucked into cosy "Lady of the Manor" positions until they were too old, or popped enough children into the world to warrant some protection. Anne Boleyn wasn't the first of her kind in any way, shape or form. Women like her either staved of pregnancy, or tried their best at it. And she sure as hell wouldn't be passing down her history. She knew she probably had ten – fifteen- years at best left. And that in order to survive, Marguerite couldn't be with Gregori. Hell, he wanted five children. And that was something Marguerite wasn't willing to contemplate. That and he tended to hit her every other day with a backhand as fierce as her tongue. Biting into her lip, Marguerite practiced for the best performance of her life. Marguerite, if she was anything, was as fictional as they get.

"Gregori!" Marguerite whispered as she crawled her way to him from her sprawled position on the floor.

"Vous devez savoir je t'aime, Gregori." Marguerite said amongst tears as she clutched her husband's legs.

Speak English, you damned French whore."

"As you wish, my love. I can't live without you, Gregori. You know that. You own my heart." Marguerite was 92 percent sure that he believed her. And when he picked up her grovelling body, but not her soul, from the ground beneath her and kissed her softly, she was completely sure.

As they lay in bed, intertwined amongst sheets and pillows Marguerite laid the final nail into her plan.

"I hope I will give you a son." Marguerite disguised the disgusted shiver the mere idea of children gave her as lust and turned in her lover's arms.

I want nothing more than for us to be a family. And children would complete my life." Marguerite whispered into his ear, as he smirked salaciously.

I will never stop loving you." Marguerite bit back the rest of her sentence that ended with "Because I never started."

That night, after he manhandled her in every way possible, and after he fell asleep, Marguerite slipped him a small pill, and became a widow—indefinitely.

--

Marguerite woke up violently. As she shuttered through the memory, the hold on her increased in intensity. In the warm arms of Roxton, Marguerite turned to face him.

She whispered her apologies on waking him. He promised that one could never wake a hunter pretending to be asleep.

"Are you having... uh? Never mind. Just go back to sleep, John"

Having what, Marguerite?" Roxton asked in a sleepy tone.

"I seem to be reliving some... of the more unpleasant aspects of my past."

Having some guilty thoughts? I never thought I'd see the day."

Neither would I." Marguerite whispered back. Roxton's only answer was to refold her in his arms as kiss the crown of her head.


End file.
